“You both have some nerve.” She huffs. “You do realize they held me all afternoon, don’t you? Endless hours in a room without windows, only to be assaulted with five thousand questions about the two of you. And to be told like a child that if I cover for either of you there will be serious consequences. I had half a mind not to, and to let you both stew in this absolutely abominable disaster you’ve gotten us all into. But I know Ash didn’t kill him, and as much as I wish I could say otherwise, I know you didn’t, either. So there you have it, screwed by my own conscience. And you know what really gets me?”

I shake my head.

“Stefano was my friend.” Her voice softens, and I can tell that she has nearly worn herself out. “And instead of being able to mourn him and process how I feel about all of this, I have to worry about you two idiots.” She plops down on the couch.

I carefully sit next to her. Who knew this fiery girl was under all that studious perfectionism? For once she doesn’t seem a million miles away behind a wall of ice, but vulnerable. I reach out and touch her hand and am pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull it away.

Layla shakes her head and her eyes glisten slightly. “We better get to the parlor. Keep your eyes and ears open and don’t walk off with anyone for any reason.” She removes her hand from mine, but even tolerating five seconds of a friendly gesture is enormous progress in my book.

“I have some questions—”

“Of that I have no doubt,” she says, and stands. “But there is no time for them.”

A guard opens the door for us and Layla and I make our way into the parlor. Even though I’ve decided the kids in this place are seriously questionable and the present circumstances are as bad as they can be, I’d still rather be with people than be alone in my room stressing.

The parlor is full, with more than thirty advanced students sprawled out on a rug in front of the fireplace or draped over velvet couches quietly talking. It reminds me of those cocktail parties you see in movies about old European families. One person who is noticeably absent is Matteo. I exhale in relief. Layla, however, is stiffer than usual.

Charles, Brendan, and Nyx are playing cards at a round table and take immediate notice of us.

“Well, this night just got better,” Brendan says, leaning back in his chair and pushing his platinum hair out of his face.

Nyx lowers her cards. “Not so much better as car-crash fascinating,” she says. Even though she uses the word fascinating, her tone suggests that she couldn’t be less interested in us. Like she wishes we would just disappear.